


the lines really aren't that blurred

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, Frain - Freeform, M/M, Slut Shaming, Things go bad, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio is into dirty talking. Francis is too, but he'd like it better if he wasn't being called a whore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lines really aren't that blurred

**Author's Note:**

> Title references Blurred Lines, that kind of rape-y sounding song that was so popular a few months ago. This references it because of a line Antonio uses--"I know you want it." 
> 
> Warnings are in the tags, but I'll repeat them here: Slut shaming and dubious-consent here.
> 
> This was also posted on the hetalia kink meme; http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/84399.html?thread=512664751#cmt512664751

As a rule, Francis Bonnefoy was incredibly open-minded to sexual situations. He'd try (nearly) anything once, with the only rules being that, naturally, he and/or his partner could break off whenever necessary, and that what went on in the bedroom would stay in the bedroom (or the kitchen, or the living room, or the balcony--wherever it was they'd do it). 

Granted, that last rule rarely happened, and while Francis never openly called his once-partners out on it, that rule-breaking tended to be the only reason why he'd been with nearly everyone once, but he'd had few repeat partners. He doubted they knew the reason he turned them away and, while it would do more harm than good sometimes, it was better to be called a bitch or a 'classist slut' (a creative one from a more entitled partner) than to have even more descriptions of their sexual adventures. 

However, there had been a few partners over the years that had kept the details of their nights together to themselves. They included Matthew, Arthur, Ivan, Germany, and... To no one's surprise, Antonio. 

Antonio and Francis's sexual history--had it ever been mentioned outside their bedrooms--was something of legend. From the time they'd known the secondary purpose of their genitalia, they'd been experimenting--even after Catholicism, which evidently had just excited them both, to be doing something they could get caught at. 

Now that they were older and more experienced, they still dabbled together on the side. This partnership only seemed to take a break when they became interested in other people or were simply too busy, but, in the end, they always came back to each other. 

So when Francis's physical age was something like twenty-six, and Antonio's was something like twenty-three, they'd started a relationship together. A proper one this time, unlike the many smaller-scale attempts beforehand. 

This time, they decided to go on dates, and to kiss and cuddle more frequently than they fucked, and to talk to each other about things more than just daily struggles or work or what they wanted to do that night. Whether it was immortality or history or silly modern things, they wanted to have a relationship that was simultaneously more pure and more mature than had been before. 

And, for the most part, it worked. 

They got more comfortable talking to each other about things they'd have never even thought of saying to another person. 

For example, "I can't stand it when I hear people talking in non-Romantic languages within my border." And "I stopped liking gold recently. I learned a few things I would have been happier without knowing about my time in the New World." And "I hate it when people think I'm an airhead when I'm just trying to be nice most of the time." And "I still get nightmares about the World Wars and how I and my land and people fared during those years." 

And, tonight, "I don't want to have innocent sex tonight, Francis. Can we do something different?" 

Francis, having been reading, looked up at such a casual statement. It wasn't the first time one of them had had a request like that, but it was probably the first time in a century that Antonio had asked so hesitantly. 

"Of course," he replied, setting down his book and taking off the reading glasses he'd been wearing. "What did you have in mind?" 

Just as before, Antonio sounded curiously meek, and he didn't look at him for a moment. "I, ah. Well... I wanted to do something... Like dirty talk, with it being the focus. Not just what we usually do if it's rough. A little bit more than that." 

Francis quickly ran through his mind of possible problems, but, the request seemed reasonable enough. "Alright. Do you want to be saying them, or would you like me to?" 

"I want to," Antonio said, somewhat to Francis's surprise. 

Yet, Antonio wasn't merely smiles and laughter and kind words, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would want something like this. Francis, however different he was, seemed to understand that, and gave him a quick, chaste kiss. "Alright, cher," he said. "I'll go get myself ready, then, and you can get the room ready." 

Twenty minutes found Francis properly showered and cleaned up, and Antonio waiting in the bedroom for him. 

Francis was about to ask if they were ready to start or not, but Antonio seemed to get ahead of himself. "I thought you'd be naked already," he said. He crossed the room, then sensually placed his hand on Francis's hip, adding more pressure than strictly necessary. 

"If you're not, then I don't need to be yet either," Francis said, defiantly looking up into the other's eyes. 

Antonio's eyes flickered, and Francis liked to think it was mischief, but he'd known the other when Antonio had been a conqueror. He didn't like the look of those eyes. But, they'd agreed to dirty talk, and that's what Francis would hold him to. 

"I don't like that tone. You're always practically begging for it, and you give me attitude when I ask?" As if the thinly veiled insult wasn't enough, Antonio decided to be more blunt. "You're a bit of a whore, so don't give me too much lip, unless you're planning on using your lips." 

The words stung, and Francis gulped down the revulsion bubbling up into his throat at such a phrase. But, surely Antonio was playacting? He'd never done this before--never said this before--and so Francis was fairly sure this was just part of the act. 

And yet, Antonio had specifically requested they do this. 

Francis wasn't sure if he wanted to think about why Antonio wanted this. 

Instead of dwelling on it more than necessary, Francis hoped to speed this along. "Well, if you want to put my lips to a better use, I suggest we start, else I might get bored with you and try for another," he said, keeping his face resolutely sensual. 

"You couldn't get it from anyone else right now if you wanted to," Antonio countered, tugging Francis closer, then leaning backwards onto the bed so that Francis fell roughly on top of him. 

It wasn't as if it hurt, but Francis felt a bit uncomfortable being handled so roughly. "Easy on the merchandise, please. If you break it, you buy it," he said, playing on an American phrase he'd heard Alfred use before. 

"So, if I break you, I can buy you? Sorry, but I only do sluts, Francis. Not prostitutes," Antonio said. He threaded his fingers in Francis's hair, and despite the harsh tone, his hands were gentle. "And so far, you're only a bit of a whore, which means I have a clear conscience. Unlike you." Antonio's voice got sweeter-sounding, and yet his hands got rougher, and there was some tugging on Francis's hair. 

It had been centuries ago but surely Antonio would remember, remember that he didn't like his hair pulled, not since it had been tugged away so his neck was in clear view for the guillotine? 

The words died on his lips, however, as Antonio pulled him closer and pressed a long, sultry kiss on his lips--one devoid of sweetness, of love. It consisted only of passion. 

And the words that came next were no sweeter. 

"Get undressed, slut. You know you want to do this."

This time, as much as being called a slut hurt, the second phrase hurt worse, because it was implying he had no say in it, that he wasn't allowed to object. His stomach twisted, and it took a moment to realize he'd been given an order. 

I want this, Francis tried to tell himself. I want this. 

And he did, because he wanted what they normally did. He wanted the closeness, the hands roaming over him, the warmth, the feeling of Antonio inside of him or of him inside of Antonio. He wanted the sweet kisses, the compliments, the overwhelming feeling of love, even more than the feeling of lust. 

Perhaps he'd just gotten spoiled with Antonio being so kind to him. Francis wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that his consent wasn't important, or that he didn't have the right to tell Antonio to back off, nor did he feel that he owed Antonio this even if he didn't want it. 

But he didn't want to hurt Antonio. And he didn't want to ruin things for tonight. 

Idly, he wondered if his sensitivity to being called a whore had something to do with his rule against talking about his deeds outside of the night and the room they'd share. 

"Francis. Undress," Antonio said. There seemed to be some faltering there, and Francis became aware that this was the first time Antonio had properly addressed him by name since they'd started. Antonio seemed to realize it too, and despite Francis's most desperate wishing, Antonio soon got back into character. "Hey. I'm talking to you--take it off. Take it all off." 

Francis, still held by Antonio, struggled just a moment to take his shirt off, to unbutton his pants, and tonight there was no striptease. 

There was no attempt to be sultry, to be sexy, to show little bits of skin at a time, to get Antonio to enjoy Francis's figure to the fullest. Instead, he got it over with as quickly as he could, tossing his clothes (expensive as they were) across the room. 

"You must really want this," Antonio said. "Undressing so quickly and all. Still, I wish you might have slowed down." He pressed possessive kisses along Francis's collarbone and shoulder. "But then, I wonder how many other people have seen that sight..."

Francis's blood ran cold, because this didn't feel like playacting anymore. Playacting meant keeping reality out of it, and that was something Francis was guilty of, however little guilt he felt for it. There was nothing to feel guilty over, and he knew that, but with how many times he'd been called a slut this evening, and how many times it had been used derisively... He was starting to feel sick, and there was a lump in his throat so he doubted he could protest even if he wanted to. 

Antonio continued on obliviously. "So I guess, in the end, it's not worth that much even if I enjoy it. You're definitely a slut. But don't worry..." 

Knowing what was going to be said next, Francis internally prepared himself, but his stomach was in knots so much worse than before now. Antonio had already said he wasn't worth much, had already insulted him for how many people he'd been with. But, given the escalation, whatever was coming next was worse than what had been said before, and Francis knew no matter how much he braced for it, it would still hurt. 

"...I'm still going to pay for you tonight, because you want it, even if you're not worth the change in my wallet." 

And that, that was about when Francis finally pulled out of Antonio's grip. It was reflexive, not because he was afraid of Antonio hurting him, but because he didn't want the other to see him cry. Francis, eyes blurred with tears, found himself up and off the bed before he realized he had moved. 

Because he couldn't look at Antonio, couldn't let the other see that he was crying, he missed the alarm on the other's face and didn't know what Antonio was feeling or thinking until he heard him speak, felt those kind hands rest on his arms and rub warmth into them. 

"Francis?" Antonio asked. "Francis... Why did you stop?" 

No matter how kind those hands were, that amount of obliviousness only served to frustrate the Frenchman, and he pushed Antonio's hands off of him. And here came the alarm, the realization--Antonio's eyes widened and he carefully took Francis's hands into his own. 

"It was the simulation, wasn't it," Antonio said softly, coming in a bit closer. Given how Francis had pushed him away twice now, he didn't move close enough to embrace him, but he did rest his forehead against Francis's. 

Seeing as he didn't want Antonio asking something so broad as, 'What did I do wrong?' Francis decided to go easier on him. 

The lump in his throat had not yet left, but Francis attempted speech anyways. "You know my only two rules about having sex with someone, don't you?" he asked. After he was sure Antonio had remembered, he continued. "It must be consensual at all times, and... And you don't speak of it afterwards." 

There was a silence for a few seconds, and Antonio looked hopelessly lost. "I... I don't know what that has to do with this," he said, then paused, horror struck. "You--oh, god. I'm-- Francis, I'm so sorry. You didn't say no and I missed it, did you?" 

Francis shook his head. "Non. It was-- it was about the second. I don't..." He hesitated, then trusted their centuries-old habit of being perfectly honest with each other. "I don't want others thinking of me as a whore because someone decides to speak of everything we did after having sex. I don't care what they see me as, so long as they see me as a person, but when they do that, when they break one of only two rules..." He ran a hand through his hair, finally calming down. "That means they see me as a bragging tool. Not an equal." 

It took a moment for Antonio to digest all that, but when he did, his expression soften from panic to concern, and he pressed a sweet kiss against the other's cheek. "You didn't like me calling you those things, then. Lo siento--but, Francis, you could have told me. I would have stopped." 

"You surprised me. I thought, at first, that you had meant more basic dirty talk." Francis bit the inside of his cheek, then took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I... didn't think that was what you were referring to, when you said 'dirty talk.' But, if your intention was that from the start, why..." He pressed his forehead against Antonio's shoulder, voice muffled as he spoke into the other's shirt. "I kept wondering why you wanted to do this at all. If you perceived me in this way normally. If you meant it, talking about... my, my history with others." 

And now, of course, it was Antonio's turn to look startled. "No, of course not," he said quickly, pulling back and pushing Francis away just enough to get a good look at his face. "I would never think of you that way, not for real." 

"You were the one who brought it up while we were going," Francis said, eyes hardening just a moment before he looked away from the Spaniard. "And you pulled my hair. I've said both hair pulling and bringing up real things are off limits. Especially the hair pulling." 

Antonio was showing more guilt than Francis had expected, and he looked truly horrified with himself. "I... Please forgive me, Francis. I didn't even realize I was doing it." 

"Why not? You have always been yourself in the past. Why shouldn't I hold you responsible now?" 

And here, Antonio looked away, an embarrassed blush smearing his cheeks. It took a moment for him to gather the courage to start speaking, and when he did, it seemed more like a guilt admittance than an apology. "I've never told someone that I was into that. Not before you. It's... I've wanted to do that with someone for a long time. I've fantasized it so many times..." 

Francis furrowed his brows. "Why didn't you do it before now?"

"It feels wrong, talking to a stranger or a friend like that." Antonio bit his lip, then noticed Francis's hurt expression and quickly amended his statement. "No, not like that--It felt wrong talking to someone I wasn't as close to like that because they might take me seriously longterm. I figured, since we're supposed to say what we mean with each other, that you would know I only meant what I said as, well... dirty talk. I guess it didn't work out very well." 

Feeling a bit tired of standing after such a shock, Francis sat down on the bed, closing his eyes and feeling much more tired than he ought. "Non. It didn't work out very well. But... I should have spoken up earlier." 

"I should have clarified... Or used my brain a little more," Antonio said. He sat down next to him, slouched over in a particularly defeated position, and rapped his fist against his head, as if to ask, 'why was I so stupid?'

But, after a few hits, Francis reprehended Antonio's hand. "None of that," he said softly. "Non. I shouldn't expect anyone to know precisely what I mean all the time." Finally he sighed, then moved to sit back, properly against the pillows. "I think," he started, "We ought to just go to sleep." 

"You don't want to finish?" Antonio said, but it wasn't a curious tone--more than anything, he sounded understanding. Almost relieved. "Yeah, we should get some rest. I'm sorry about tonight, Francis." 

"Mm. Apology forgiven," Francis said softly, and motioned for Antonio to join him under the covers. They spooned, Francis with his back to Antonio's front, where it seemed as if Antonio was attempting to make up for earlier by making Francis feel safe and comfortable now.  
While Francis appreciated the effort, he knew it would be a little while before either of them fully trusted each other about sex. 

But that was alright. Considering the night they'd had, maybe it would be good to be a little more careful, and a lot more honest. 

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.


End file.
